Epic Is Just A Word
by Nerdyesque
Summary: Logan is unable to forget, but can't bear to remember. Life does go on after Epic, right? Companion piece to "Snapshots of Life"
1. The Only Nick L Song I Like

What's Left of Me

Tracy watched Logan sleep, quietly sketching the planes and hollows of his face with her fingertip. It's in the defenselessness of slumber that she sees the real him, the man beneath the polite mask he keeps the world at bay. She knows he thinks she's ignorant, but the heart of a loving woman _knows_ when something is off in the way she knows things are _different_.

He would play it off as nerves on her part to think he changed his mind about the wedding, but so far only she's done any work in planning their big day. Every time she asked for his assistance, he merely waved her off and told her "whatever you think is best, dear," using the exasperated but loving tone she'd heard her dad use a hundred times with her mother; does it sound as fake to him as it does to her?

It's only when the subject of the flowers came up that he empathetically made it clear he only wanted white roses _(roses were safe because they were the one flower not associated with Lily, Veronica, or funerals, of which he'd attended far too many, but of course Tracy can't know what she's never been told)._

She thinks back to his proposal, the gorgeous man on bended knee on the veranda of their favorite restaurant, the moon high in the sky, and violin concerto softly serenading them, satisfying all the girlish dreams she never quite left behind. It is her innocence and joy that attracted and held Logan's attention, a reminder of what he and the loves of his life weren't and couldn't be for so long. It also helps she was tall and brunette, tanned from an ancestral dip into Italian love, a far cry from the dainty pale wintery goddesses he'd spent over half his life worshipping.

It's been two years since that day, two years of lace and chiffon fittings, wedding planners who came and went, and flowers that never quite made it from garden to bouquet. She asked Dick for advice, and he could only shrug, muttering something about sacrifices to the water gods, but she didn't understand and he couldn't explain. How could he tell this love-sick dark-eyed beauty she was only the butterfly bandage keeping the edges of a soul-sucking wound from finally ripping apart and swallowing Logan whole?

Veronica lived in every deep breath, averted gaze, and uncertain pause. Dick had hated her with all the passion in his loyal heart when Logan had commanded, then accepted her with open arms when Logan changed his mind. The third time Logan demanded another attitude, Dick stepped back from the minefield of their romance, realizing he was only cannon fodder in the endless war they couldn't help but fight. It didn't matter if they were together or apart, their compasses, North Stars, only pointed to each other, and heaven help anyone (_Caitlyn, Leo, Hannah, Kendall, Duncan, Beav-Cassidy, Parker, Piz) _who got in their way.

The finality of Veronica's death hit Dick nearly as hard as Logan, simply because he knew his friend would never be the same. Oh sure, Logan breathed, ate, and aged, but the spark, the life, the boy he loved, was dead, had died in the split second of a car wavering over the white line into unforgiving concrete.

No, there was no advice for this child bride standing next to him with brimming eyes and trembling lips; she was the antithesis of the warrior maiden who made the world fear her wrath, and secretly he preferred the fiery terror of Veronica to the gentle freshwater rains of Tracy. He too was a son of Neptune, as cracked and jagged as Logan, though in different ways, and he no longer understood the normality of a slightly spoiled girl used to her dreams coming true.

It is in the hush of a darkened room (_Logan had never quite asked her to move in, merely ignored the girly crap currently residing in his bedroom and bathroom) _that Tracy finally finds a little bit of steel infused backbone and tries to set the world on fire, a blaze she starts with a small leak to prominent entertainment outlets about a certain infamous murderer's son's upcoming summer plans (_even though they've yet to set a date, but maybe the publicity will push him)._


	2. A Dandy Warhol Time

We Used To Be Friends

She listens with bated breath as the plane touches down with a bump and screech, the whine of hydraulics doing their job to stop several thousand tons of metal, man, and physics in action. The window shade is still stubbornly pulled down so she couldn't see their first entry into the Californian desert as it bled into civilization, where scrub brush gave way to black top and strip malls, and the ocean ever roiling in the distance.

Nine years seemed like forever while mired in Albuquerque, but now she's actually back, it seems like a blink. Mary would scold her for returning to the scene of the crime, as it were, since protected witnesses last longer when they don't go back to where they were relocated from, but Veronica knew she couldn't - _wouldn't be able to - _move on without some sort of closure. She'd lost her way so long ago (_even before the night on the highway she thankfully still can't remember) _and hopes by finally laying all her ghosts to rest, she can heal and become whomever Veronica Nicole Mars is, was, can be, shall be, or should be.

The first step off the gangplank is an awakening, the smell of salt and sand piercing even through a miasma of heat, dust, oil, and smog that blankets L.A.; the scent a reminder of lazy days, innocence, anger, pain, love, long runs, flying planes, vehicular foreplay; it permeates the air, the people, even the very buildings. It is a shock after the relatively clean air of New Mexico, but it is home. _Home!_

Soon, however, the euphoria fades as her new reality reasserts itself; there's no one to wait for her at baggage claim (_not that she carries much since it's hard with a bum knee)_ or bring around the car for her once she's outside the terminal. A sharp whistle and a raised hand flags down the first taxi making the rounds, and she gives him the address to the only place she can think of.

The Motel 6 nearest the beach begins to feel almost like home after three weeks (_hey if Logan, Duncan, and Dick can do it, why can't she?)_, the bed barely creased from her slight weight. She paces across the avocado green carpet (_though it is more chartreuse after all these years) _and fiddles with the phone receiver; terror stills her fingers and she never completes the last number. No one knows her any more (_most days when she looks in the mirror she doesn't know who she is either) _so why should she suddenly announce her miraculous come to Lazarus moment and disrupt settled lives after all this time?

It is exactly thirty miles, forty-eight point two eight kilometers, one hundred fifty-eight thousand four hundred feet, fifty-two thousand eight hundred yards, one million nine hundred thousand eight hundred inches, and four million eight hundred twenty-eight thousand thirty-two centimeters…the distance between her and Neptune. She scrawls the numbers across the walls; keeping track like a prison inmate with years left on a sentence, and promises herself she'll go tomorrow.

Five weeks have gone by and she still hasn't found the untapped source of molten fury that once propelled her through Duncan's desertion, Lily's death, her rape, Logan's abuse/love cycle, and waking up in world without Keith Mars. Instead she sits in her cell as the ever pounding surf beckons her back into the watery embrace of the god she left behind; reminding her that Neptune never forgets his own.

Finally she can no longer resist the siren call of the ocean and allows it to lure her from her self-imposed stagnancy, hobbling to where sand and water meet, feeling absolution wash over her bare feet. It is time to really go home.


	3. Kelly Clarkson Absolution

Haunted

Neptune, the city without a middle class, hides its scars and blood beneath gold-plated streets and he cannot bear to leave. The charred remains of his father's temple to greed have long since vanished, though the land remains empty and threatening still. It is the ocean, ever-changing and always knowing, that buoys his soul amid the restless teeming ghosts.

Sometimes he thinks he's merely dreams pressed between bone and gristle. He reached out to touch his new love, tethering himself to the here and now with shackles made of gold, but her fingers can't hold him tight enough and he feels himself slipping away, one particle at a time.

He'd always suspected he was more his mother's son, willing to keep his eyes wide shut, so he wouldn't have to face what he couldn't handle, but even wet supple flesh cannot quench the ravenous thirst in his soul. He knows he is cloudy and opaque to her, the daisy-crowned girl who wants to take his name, even though it is a tainted and foul thing, but he is selfish and lonely enough to take solace in her arms.

But it isn't her he sees when he closes his eyes.

_Lily giggled at something beyond his vision, her green and white Pep Squad uniform molded to her body in ways that were illegal in at least five states. Logan wanted to run after her, stop her, because he knew how her afternoon would end, but he also knew it was a foolish wish, so he simply watched as she walked away fading into a distance where he could never follow her._

_Kicking the sand at his feet, Logan wasn't surprised when he was suddenly transported to a certain cafeteria, with a connected-connected guy lying at his feet bruised and bloodied by his fists. He lifted his gaze to Veronica's face, seeing the shine of admiration, the dullness of irritation, a gleam of hero worship, and the blaze of love reflected in her eyes and turning her lips up into a small secretive smile. He knew she knew this was their code (he'd broken it by attacking the wrong person), and knew she would be his again someday. _

_Turning, he saw a familiar black and blue face topped by brown shaggy hair. "Ah Piz, just who I was looking for. Listen man, I'm truly sorry. For everything." The puppy-eyed boy merely nodded, looking sheepish, alarmed, and sad because he too had seen Veronica's expression and knew he'd lost; knew Logan wasn't apologizing just for the beating, but for letting him hope he had a chance with Logan's girl._

_Logan was both the Logan proudly striding out of the building and the one watching him walk out and screamed helplessly at his clueless nineteen-year-old self. "Don't go! Wait for her! Stalk her like you did so many other times." But even in his dreams he couldn't change the past, and he fast-forwarded to sitting in Big Yellow with Dick, music blasting as they road-tripped to Tijuana, his phone fallen out of his pocket so he never felt the vibration of Veronica's call._

_He knew how this dream ended and waited for the usual parade of imagery the media had shown of her crash on the nightly news, but instead he found himself standing in the parking lot of Dog Beach, crow bar in hand. He looked around wildly and Veronica's old Le Baron was parked behind him with one head light smashed out, except he was alone instead of surrounded by his cronies like the first time._

"_What the fuck?"_

"_Vehicular foreplay was always strangely erotic for me. I don't know why."_

_Logan slowly craned his neck to the left and saw a short-haired blond pixie grinning at him, hands tucked into her back pockets. _

"_Ronnie?"_

_A brow twitched upward. "Yes?"_

"_Where are we?"_

"_In Neptune at our favorite beach…" she spoke the words slowly and enunciated clearly. "You okay, Logan?"_

"_I, I, I'm not sure." He let the crowbar drop to the asphalt and grabbed her to his chest. "I've missed you so much."_

_Her arms wrapped around his waist as she snuggled into him. "I'm right here where I've always been. Have you been drinking with Dick again?"_

_He was unable to respond so he just gripped her even tighter, rubbing his cheek over her strawberry scented hair. "I dreamed you died."_

"_You probably danced on my grave."_

"_Never! You know how I feel about you."_

_Then why didn't you look for me?"_

"_What?" He thrust her from him and saw she was bloody and covered with debris from a car accident._

"_I didn't die, Logan. I was lost and you never came to find me. Remind me never to play hide and seek with you again."_

She seemingly stepped from the sepia tones of his dream into Neptune's reality.

He saw her standing at her old door, trying to pretend it would open to a balding man with a smile filled with endless love for her and a pit bull with a ridiculously perfect name.

He saw her laying carnations on Lily's grave and touching the headstone with reverent fingers

He saw her staring at the flag pole where she once cut down a half-naked kid whose only crime was not being Neptune's son.

He saw her knock gently on the door of his old suite, biting her lips in consternation when it opened to a stranger who didn't know her face.

He saw her wading in the water, her skirt growing dark with the wet, laughing without bitterness.

He saw her turn to him with a tremulous secretive smile and heard her say, "I'm home."

**A/N: This section kind of got away from me because I ended up writing the LoVe reunion scene starting from the middle instead of the beginning (it just popped into my head almost fully formed so who am I to question the universe?). When I tried to go back and find a way to bridge it between Veronica coming to Neptune and finding Logan, it didn't really work because my Muse is a stubborn bitch like that sometimes. It's not as poetic as other parts, it kinda sucks, but bear with me. Yes, Logan's dreams are a cop-out, but he's a tortured soul who lives too much in his head *innocent look* You may notice I rearranged/renamed the chapters, but the original Logan dream just didn't ring true with the Tracy/Veronica parts, so I deleted it.**


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